


in the dust that never settles

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, Post-Break Up, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6839797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The mark is killing her and she didn't even bother to tell him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in the dust that never settles

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chanterie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chanterie/gifts).



> For the tumblr prompt "things you said when you were scared". 
> 
> This is set in an AU where Lavellan breaks up with Cullen after the events of the main game.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He speaks even before the door falls shut behind him and he doesn’t know which noise makes her flinch more. She makes a harsh sound of annoyance at the back of her throat - the one she always makes when something startles her. The familiarity of it hits him even harder than the sight of her face had.

 

She finds her bearings within the span of a heartbeat, straightening up and raising her chin in defiance. “There was no point.”

 

He stops at the door, the distance between them an ocean. She’s thinner than he remembered. Without the finely tailored uniform to hide it, she looks almost gaunt, the bones of her shoulders sharp underneath her thin white shirt. Noticing his gaze, she pulls her leather vest from the bed and puts it on quickly. It does little to conceal her weight loss, especially when she fastens the belt around her waist.

 

“No point,” he repeats, almost without thinking about it at all.

 

She shrugs but it’s a half-hearted movement as she turns back to the bed and picks up her quiver. The way she runs her thumb over the fletches as she counts her arrows is another familiar sight but now that he knows, he can’t help but notice how much she favors her right hand in everything she does. How did he not see this before?

 

“Was that all?” she asks, and then, when he doesn’t move, “Cullen?”

 

She still uses his name, not his title like he once feared. He takes a breath. She’s not cruel. Whatever else happened and whatever people may whisper behind her back, she’s not cruel. Never that.

 

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do that.” He steps closer, just one step, before stopping again.

 

She turns her head to look at him, her mouth a tight line. “What?”

 

“You should’ve told me.”

 

For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Then, she turns to him fully, challenge in every line of her posture. “And then what? What would’ve been the point, Cullen? How would’ve knowing helped you in any way?”

 

“It’s not about helping me,” he says, irritation flaring up in his chest. “It’s about you. I could’ve helped you!”

 

“How exactly? By making me come back to Skyhold? Keeping me locked up in the keep while wasting time and resourcing to do what? Find a cure?”

 

Cullen scoffs. “You really think that’s such an outlandish idea? Trying to heal you?”

 

“It is when it means losing countless lives to open rifts in the meantime!” She throws the quiver back onto the bed with enough force that a few arrows fall clattering onto the floor. With a curse, she bends down to pick them up but when he makes to help her, she lifts her hand to keep him back. “Don't. I’ve got it.”

 

Cullen folds his arms, cold creeping through his bones like he hasn’t felt it since the worst days of his withdrawal. He says her name, softly, and sees her stiffening. “Do you trust me so little?”

 

She halts in her movement, keeping her head down. “No, but I know you,” she says, more quietly than before. “You would’ve tried to… solve this.” She picks up the last arrow. “There’s nothing to solve here.”

 

Exhaustion washes over him at the sight of her, only ashes where there were glowing embers before. He wanted to scream before, ever since he found out, but now he can hardly keep himself upright. Can hardly speak the words. “The mark. It’s killing you,” he says. Not a question.

 

She gets back up and throws him a sideways glance. “That’s the consensus, yes.” He notices the way she balls her left hand into a fist - once, twice, without seeming to be aware of it.

 

“How -”

 

“Do you want me to paint you a picture?” she snaps. “Describe the pain in detail?”

 

He clenches his jaw. “That’s not…” He sighs. A voice in the back of his head whispers that he has no right anymore. No right to any of it.

 

For a moment, her posture remains rigid, her face unmoved. Then, a tiny shift, just the smallest faltering. She blinks, the line of her shoulders droping. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m just…” She sighs. “I’m just sorry.”

 

 _That you didn’t tell me_ , he thinks. _Or that I found out before you could slip out and leave me for good?_

 

When did words start to become so difficult between them?

 

“You don’t have to do this alone.”

 

The platitude falls into the silence between them, neither of them bothering to pick it up. It’s rich, after all, coming from him.

 

He watches her pack, all the words he wants to say stuck in his throat. Once, he might have known how to help, how not to get in the way while she filled her pack with essentials. If he lets himself he remembers early mornings, sleep still in his eyes as he watched her move about from his spot in her bed. The soft smile she reserved for him and those four walls and the piece of happiness between them.

 

 _A lifetime ago_ , he thinks and straightens his back. He hasn’t been alone in a room with her for over a year. This is the first time in months they’re even in the same country.

 

When she takes her things and moves to leave, her hands are shaking. He sees it clearly before she hooks her thumbs underneath the straps of her pack, the green pulsing light visible even through her glove.

 

“The others are waiting,” she says and it’s only now that he realizes he’s still blocking the door. She looks about as tired as he feels but he knows nobody will ever be able to tell once she leaves this room. It’s not the first time she’s fooled the world. They’ll see her burning until the very end.

 

 _Ah_ , he thinks. _A new truth to swallow._

 

He steps aside, his hands itching with the ache to reach out to her. The possibility of an ending will do that to a man. A true ending, this time. 

 

One hand on the door, she’s not looking at him. “You deserved better than knowing,” she says. “That’s all.”

 

This more than anything tells him everything he needs to know. Once, in a moment of weakness, he asked her to promise she’d come back. A cruelty he won’t repeat.

 

“After this,” he says instead, “I’d like to talk. If you want.”

 

There’s no smile, no softness. No piece of happiness between them. “Alright,” she says and curls her fingers around the door handle. “After this.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Duologue's "Forests". 
> 
> _Cause I fell out of your pocket, back to where I started._   
>  _In the dust that never settles, I found my home._
> 
> You can also follow my [tumblr](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com) if you're interested.


End file.
